


Seeing Red

by LuLuLaRue



Category: Veep
Genre: Humiliation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuLuLaRue/pseuds/LuLuLaRue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hurts, it's humiliating, and he hates it.<br/>Two of those aren't even lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a couple requests for this so I thought I'd try my hand. I'm sorry.

It hurts.

 

He's surprised how much it hurts, the first time it happens. Jonah practically attacks him after the Zucchini Disaster, shoving him in the parking lot as he walks to his car that afternoon.

 

"Fuck you man! Fuck your stupid Italian suits and your made up job and fuck you for trying to make us look bad!"

 

He pushes Dan again, sending him bumping into the side of his car. Dan's eyes narrow, seeing Jonah's dumb assistant who's name he wouldn't remember if someone held a gun to his head standing at the edge of the lot, pleasantly watching the traffic go by. He pushes Jonah back.

 

"Give yourself credit Jonad, you look bad all on your own." 

 

Jonah's face twists into a grimace and for about ten seconds there's a flurry of very undignified hitting and scuffling, "fucktards" and "has-beens" tossed around, and before either of them fully process what's happening Jonah's pushed him, stomach down, over the hood and smacked his ass, four times in quick succession, hard.

 

There's a pause and nobody moves, nobody breathes. And then Dan straightens up, eyes wide and slightly shocked, and Jonah backs away stammering something about important work to do and Dan is so stunned he doesn't even have a response. 

 

He quietly sits down in the driver's seat of the car and winces, the burn becoming more and more intense the longer he sits in traffic.  _Stupid Jonah and his stupid giant hands and his pervy way of fighting_ , he tells himself.

 

He has to put lotion in his ass that night anyway.

* * *

It's humiliating.

 

Jonah's stupid minion seems to pop up everywhere he goes in the city the next week or two, and he can't make himself look the guy in the face. This nobody who saw Dan Egan get...over his car by...ugh, he can't even say it.

 

The guy is probably too decent of a Midwestern rube to try to blackmail him with it, but he can't guarantee he won't let it slip in some scenario he perceives as innocuous.

 

The idea of his coworkers finding out, of Selina, or  _Amy_ , her shit eating grin as she texts senator's aides from Alabama to Wyoming about his little fuck up makes Dan wake up more than once in the ensuing week, hands and sheets wet with sweat and something else he doesn't want to think about, despite it's persisting force.

 

He runs into Jonah the next week and he can feel that human tree owning the situation, because if there's one thing Jonah can do it's continue to stand tall when any sane person would sit down and/or move back to New Hampshire.

 

Dan weaves his way through the benefit dinner and he can feel him looking at him, canvassing certain parts of him, remembering where he put his hands, where he marked. He can feel him getting closer, stalking him like a cat, and he would turn around and punch him if the anticipation wasn't making him tingle in all sorts of ways.

 

Jonah's breath is on Dan's neck. He keeps his eyes fixed ahead, his back straight, and it's one his proudest moments since he got into the Cornell Honors Program that he doesn't flinch when Jonah forcefully claps a hand over one cheek, leaning down and whispering in his ear.

 

"You learning your lesson, Danny boy?"

 

A tiny, almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips, and a few colleagues look over, and oh my God he's losing, he's turning red, and his subconscious thinks the only way to take back the lead in this conversation is to tilt up, look Jonah straight in the eye and growl "Not a chance in hell."

 

And Jonah grins, a strange sort of heated grin, lightly taps his ass again, and whispers, "Good."

* * *

He hates it.

 

He really hates how it happens more and more after that.

 

How they start giving each other looks, how Jonah will see him getting riled up or frazzled or angry, and he'll text him, just one word commands.

_Now._

 

He hates how he starts to obey, meeting the giant freakstalk in closets, in empty offices and restaurant bathrooms and once at his own apartment, standing with his hands against the wall or worse, pinned with kicking legs over bended knee.

 

Sometimes Jonah spanks him over jeans, sometimes over boxers or briefs. Sometimes over nothing. Oh, he  _really_  hates when it's over nothing. Just _abhors_ it.

 

He hates how the slaps, hard and crisp and relentless, seem to focus him. Seem to slow down his frantic breathing and the slow heat building on his ass - God help him - calms him down.

 

He hates being told when to pull up his pants, walking back out into the world like nothing happened. He hates it so much it makes him squirm and chafe and come. 

 

But what he hates the most is that this arrangement, this being spanked like a closeted and possibly deranged senator, by fucking Jonah Ryan of all people, is that he doesn't hate it. 

 

It becomes the best part of his day. Bruises and all.


End file.
